


She is Mazikeen

by whopooh



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Maze meets the Lord of Hell, Maze's perspective, Mazikeen's journey from hell to earth, and travels to Earth with him, strong Mazikeen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 10:52:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18248378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whopooh/pseuds/whopooh
Summary: She is Mazikeen. She is a sword that can cut through anything. She is grace and speed, precision and cold, steely toughness. The first time she meets the Lord of Hell, she is covered in blood after having won a competition between the demons. He asks her to come and work for him. Never could she imagine that would make her end up on Earth one day.A character study of our intriguing demon Maze. Loosely set somewhere in the end of season 1.





	She is Mazikeen

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was 100 % sure I would not write Lucifer fanfic - there are so many, and so many good ones, and I just felt there was no need for my non-native ramblings. I was happy to just read. But then Maze decided to become a Muse, and demanded I try to write the journey to Earth from her perspective. 
> 
> This is the result, I hope it can entertain someone!

She is a weapon.

She is grace and speed, precision and cold, steely toughness. She can stretch her body to the utmost, make it do things that seems impossible. Take down people twice her size without breaking a sweat.

And oh, the pleasure she takes in it. The joy of pouncing, of hitting, of catching. She loves that feeling – no, “love” is not a word she is used to use. It _pleases_ her. It gives her joy. It makes her feel focused. Like she has a purpose. 

She is a weapon, and the joy she feels in being directed and unleashed is electric. Carrying through a task, sometimes against all odds. Taking the cue from someone she trusts and then bend it to perfection, make it move in a way no one would have seen coming. It’s the height of existence, and she pities anyone who doesn’t get to feel it.

This has been her life for centuries. Or perhaps millennia? She never counted. But now, on Earth, after Lucifer decided to stray away from _his_ purpose as the Lord of Hell, everything is muddled. So many uncalled-for emotions. So many expectations – but at the same time too _few_ expectations. What is her purpose if she’s not someone’s right hand? What is her pleasure if it's all her own choice? Who is she now? 

She is Mazikeen. She is a sword that can cut through anything. She is fight and she is play, and the two are almost impossible to separate. She plays when she fights – laughing out loud when she feels the power in her limbs be released, when she can predict her opponent’s movement and strike first, when her opponent surprises her and forces her to try even harder. She fights when she plays – always coaxing, challenging her playmates, playing a little dirty to get a rise out of them. 

She remembers when she was young and played with her siblings and all her numerous cousins, at home. They compared strengths and weaknesses, training the weaknesses away. She was always the best, the one with the fullest control of herself and her body. "Forged in the bowels of hell" she likes to call it. But it wasn't hell the way the humans think of it, she wasn’t affected by the fires or ashes. It was games and challenges and ruthless fights, and what it forged was her stubbornness and her refusal to give up.

She remembers the first time she met the Lord of Hell. Of course, she’d heard of him before, they all had, but she’d never seen him. It was during one of the competitions – there were many, competitiveness being one of the demons’ most relished traits – and she was winning. He had come to watch the games and she knew the second she had caught his eye. It was the moment when she, fully focused in her wrath, bleeding from several wounds – the deepest a slash in her forearm – had made her opponent beg for his life, and she granted it. Instead of killing him she caressed his throat with her knife so skilfully there was only one single drop of blood trickling down his neck, before releasing him to the cheers of the masses.

After she had been proclaimed the winner, an older demon came to fetch her. The Lord had asked to speak with her. 

She met him in the audience’s wing. He had a box of his own, empty except for the two of them. The noise from the rest of the audience, already starting to empty the stalls, could be heard in the background. She had never seen anything like him. He glowed. No matter his dark clothes and pale face, it was clear he didn’t fully belong there; not even hell could take that away from him. Like a sunflower following the sun, she turned her face to him.

“What is your name, demon?” he asked, scrutinizing the blood-soaked champion before him. 

Her stance was set, proud; her answer short.

“I am Mazikeen.” 

“Mazikeen,” he nodded, and then continued. “You have impressed me, Mazikeen. I'd like you to come work for me as part of my team of torturers.” She was surprised it was a request and not an order. When he tilted his head, his voice was almost soft. “What do you say?”

Pure joy flowed through her. This was the highest honour, it was beyond what she could have imagined. She already knew she would be good at it. And this glowing devil-angel – yes, she would be happy to work for him. But she didn't show it. She had always been a demon of few words and she chose them carefully. 

Deliberately eyeing him from top to toe, she answered:

“If you think you can handle it?”

The dark lord threw back his head and laughed – open, friendly, amused.

“That's the spirit.”

She moved to the castle, leaving her family without any regret. After a century or so, she became head torturer. She excelled at it. She loved to pick on the guilt of the damned souls, and then give a personal twist to what she found. Lucifer said she had a knack for understanding souls, despite not having one herself. His assessment made her glow with pride.

Lucifer asked her to fight him – just for fun, no weapons, which also excluded him from using his wings and angelic power. She accepted with glee. 

They were almost even. They fought until they both panted from the exercise. He had a strong arm and a vice-like grip, but she was quicker, excellent at dodging, and an expert of stealthy moves. When they bled too much, he would call it quits. It was always him that did it; her pride wouldn’t permit it. 

As often as not, they ended the challenge in bed. It was another kind of exercise, and they both had tricks to learn from the other. He switched between pale and brown-eyed and red with eyes like glowing ember. Sometimes she let him see her demon face fully. It was still a fight and a challenge, only with softer means. Fight, play, sex – they all melded together. She could surprise him with a move; he could bend her and make her ask for more, harder; she could bend him and make him laugh of joy. 

He wasn't her favourite partner in the sack – she enjoyed even more the demons she could dominate more thoroughly – but there was something special with those angelic sides of him that would never cease to surprise her. Above all, he was her sparring partner. She learned his weaknesses as well as his strengths. Not because she planned to use them; Mazikeen prided herself on her utmost loyalty. She wished to carry out his commands, to be an extension of his will – the fiercer part, the beautiful, feared weapon in his grip. They were magnificent together. She had sworn him loyalty, that day after the demon competition, and she would never rescind it.

At least, that’s what she had thought.

She had never raised even an eyebrow at his disappearances up to the surface. He didn't have a family to visit the way she had; no one from his former life wanted to have anything to do with him – he’d told her that in one of his more vulnerable moments. Of course he needed to find somewhere to get away from the castle and those never ending rows of cells. He'd be back soon enough – a few weeks or so hell-time later he was there again, always escorted by his brother the angel. Amenadiel. He was the only one from Lucifer’s family she’d ever seen; not counting the mother in one of the cells down in hell, and it wasn’t like she could see her, as she had no bodily form. Torture her, or at least try to – that she could. That she did.

As she became Lucifer’s most trusted, he let his guard down with her more and more, and allowed her to be close. She heard Amenadiel chastise him, more than once, before quickly leaving again. As if he wouldn’t deign to stay in hell for a second longer than necessary. As if hell, and everyone residing there, was an abomination. She was surprised by the condescension Lucifer would accept from his brother. He was obviously powerful, to almost command the Lord of Hell. She didn't like it. She didn't like him. 

She made as much clear one day, stepping up to them and interrupting before Amenadiel had managed to leave.

“Do you want help against this brother of yours?” She didn’t waiver for a second while she stared the angel straight in his eyes. 

“Keep out if it, Maze,” Lucifer snapped. 

“Do you really have your demons under as much control as you claim, brother?” Amenadiel’s voice was righteous and contemptuous while his eyes were locked with hers. She couldn’t help but snarl at his tone.

“As much control as I wish to,” Lucifer retorted, his voice teasing as he turned to his brother. “Watch out, Amenadiel, you are in hell after all. My kingdom, my rules.” 

At those words, Mazikeen took a step further towards the angel, letting a sharp smile slowly develop in her face. She could see him swallow. Powerful angel or not, he wasn’t impossible to affect. 

Amenadiel looked between them, managing to keep his gaze steady, before taking a small step back.

“I was leaving anyway, brother,” he said, casting a last glance at Lucifer. “Enjoy hell.” And with a rustle, he was gone.

Lucifer stood still for a moment. Then he sighed and slumped, looking defeated in a way he rarely did. Mazikeen knew it was an honour to be allowed to see it even for a moment. That was how much he trusted her.

“Was it a good break this time?” she asked, wanting to snap him out of the mood his brother had left him with. 

“It was,” he said, his eyes looking far away for a moment. “They were up to so many interesting things, the humans, and I didn't even end up in the middle of a war this time. I met a nice fellow. And a couple of lovely ladies who seduced me before I had a chance to even try myself.” He smiled ruefully. “I would probably have been thrown out of that palace soon even if Amenadiel hadn't come to fetch me.” 

He made a pause, looking her over. 

“And what has happened here? Any rebellions? Exciting new sinners?”

Mazikeen was happy to answer all his questions.

Almost immediately, they were back to normal. That’s how the pattern always was. As time went by, he might go surface-travelling a little more often. She thought she could see him successively less happy, but it was hard to say. He had always been good at putting up a display – of power, strength, and ruthlessness. Sometimes he would become petulant and order for punishments that were worse than the crimes, but he was usually reasonable when someone in the torturers’ team called him out on it. Mazikeen could sense his restlessness; she could even feel how she caught some of it herself. 

But it seemed whatever brand of his discomfort, the trips to Earth helped stave it off. Until one time, when he didn't come back.

It was longer than usual. Not just a few weeks, hell-time. She had no idea what had happened. 

At last he did come back – but without Amenadiel, and he wasn’t there to stay. Instead, he asked her if she wanted to join him on the surface. He had an assignment, and he needed his favourite torturer’s help. 

She’d never been to Earth before; she had never even thought of leaving hell. But she was a curious creature by design, always striving for more, and she was delighted to be the one he was asking for. Of course, she said yes. He wanted her to torture someone, but someone who was still alive. It was an exciting request. 

As soon as she said yes, he swept her up in his arms and flew them upwards. She had thought it would only be for a short visit, for one assignment. But even if she had known, she would still have come. She had sworn him loyalty, after all. She trusted him.

She was not prepared for what would happen.

What happened was humanity. Human feelings, complicated situations, and a Lord of Hell who stopped acting his role. Who started to deny his own powers, to care about individual humans instead of keeping his distance, and who could even get _hurt_ by humans. She had even helped him towards it – it was she who cut his wings off that night at the beach, although it turned her nauseous to see them severed from his back. Still, she was the one who held the blade. The one who collected the wings when he was too weak to manage.

The longer time goes by, the less he is her lord and master. She is a soldier who sees her superior officer slowly desert her, desert his army, his purpose. But if Lucifer ceases to be the devil, where does that leave her – his head torturer, his solider, the weapon that is grace and speed, fight and play, precision and steely toughness? 

She has lost her old world and sense of direction and she can’t really grasp the new world she has gained. 

Sometimes she is still allowed to be unleashed, to carry through an assignment and feel the joy of a mission accomplished. But most of the time she is left in a world of new rules, her old lord abandoning her for the humans – leaving his weapon to fend for herself, filled to the brim of confusing and unwanted emotions. Leaving his demon with a growing sense of betrayal.

If it all goes to hell, he really should have seen it coming.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you kindest TheYahwehDance for beta reading!


End file.
